The Gardener
Page 30
Tom did not pause to supervise the unloading of the poplars, but elbowed aside the rushing sailors almost before the gangplank was in place. Galloping down, he laughed aloud while catching up Abigail by the waist. She had left behind her father and rushed up the gangplank to meet him halfway, ignoring the surge of sailors and activity around them.
Despite her bulging belly—she looked about to burst—he whirled her around until her hat flew off and her hair swirled like the flames of a torch. “Abby, I’m back! I promised, didn't I?”
“Stop, silly! What will the children think?” She laughed, but her arms were tight around his shoulders.
“They’ll think their father loves their mother, that’s what.” He kissed her, long and hard. But he had to set her down, because all three children had eluded their grandfather and were pounding toward the gangplank. "Papa! Papa!” Their shouts were so loud that other passengers turned to stare.
Tom scooped each of them up in turn, while Mr. Woodbury shuffled up, using his walking stick and grinning. “Welcome home, Tom.”
Arms encircling his wife and children, Tom marveled at how things had changed since he had first met Miles and Abigail Woodbury on another dock in faraway England. Then, he had been a desperate fugitive trying to evade Lord Marlowe’s agents. Now he was a respected son and husband, a returning envoy of the president of the United States of America. It was a scene he once would never have imagined, even in his wildest dreams.
A team of sailors tramped by, grunting under the weight of the Lombardy Poplars, which would eventually soar to over a hundred feet. And in the smaller burlap parcel he had set on the ground next to him….
“What is in that?” Abigail asked, following the direction of his gaze. At his nod, she opened the bag and stared, wide-eyed.
"More roses?" she exclaimed.
"Yes. These are special ones. Let me tell you something I have known for a long time, but only recently understood."
"What is that, Tom?"
He thought of Lemley. "When one lops off the head of a rose, it grows back stronger and more beautiful than before."
She stared at him, and her expression grew thoughtful.
"With these roses I shall create a hybrid with the Damasks you brought from Cambridge. We shall call them 'Abby Roses.' They will be beautiful and fragrant. The best of old and new.”
She nodded. Wrapping her arms around him again, she whispered in his ear, “Yes, my love. The best of old and new.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Catherine McGreevy lives in Folsom, California. She has a husband, three children and two cats. A former teacher and newspaper reporter, she is an omnivorous reader and a historical enthusiast.
Other Books: The Jewelry Case, a novel of romantic suspense
Connect with Catherine McGreevy
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